


Phantom of Overwatch

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Phantom of the Opera themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: Genji could only watch from afar.  It is tough being a tin man with a heart.  Then he found what he thought he wanted—someone in the darkness.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Original Character(s), Genji Shimada/Original Female Character(s), Genji Shimada/Other(s)





	Phantom of Overwatch

“C’mon—you have to help me.”

Hanzo stared as his brother dramatically threw his head down to the table and began tugging on the unruly thatch of green hair that curled over the metal frame around the crown of his head. He had truly elegant armor now—smooth curves and subtle green lights and elegant composition—but when he pulled off the face plate and the head armor, he looked like a teenager playing in a costume. With a patient sigh, he folded his hands in his lap and whispered, “And what do you expect me to do?”

Genji gave low groan. “Can’t you...? I don’t know. Tell her that I’m a good guy?”

“What?”

“Tell her that I’m nice! That I’m a good guy and that I can....”

Hanzo stared dispassionately as Genji beat his head on the table again. “I suppose that you think that I am a magician.” He shook his head. “I do not think that you understand—.”

Genji threw himself back, rocking his chair to a precarious angle before a soft grinding of servos and gears and hydraulics corrected his balance. “Han.... She is your mentee, right?”

“Yes...?”

“And you’re supposed to be guiding her? Giving her recommendations and making sure she’s going right?” He cracked an eye and saw his brother nod solemnly just once. “Since you are so important, you can tell her that it isn’t a problem for us to go out?”

“I do not interfere with any of my subordinates’ private lives.”

Genji puffed out a growling breath. “Well fuck me, Hanzo. She’s not giving me the time of day. I’ve tried everything I can think of.” He slung himself forward again. “I tried it all. I tried asking her out for coffee. For drinks. I tried flowers—even roses. I tried offering her chocolate and candies and she shoved it away from me. I tried going to get her tickets to the movies and I tried meeting up with her friends and I tried calling and texting and emailing.” He shrugged and shook his head again. “I tried it all and she just turns red and shakes her head and turns me down.”

Hanzo’s smirk was unbearably smug. “And you are—?”

“I’m at my wit’s end! I don’t know what else to try.” He stared at his brother with wild eyes. “It’s like she’s teasing me—like she knows I’m going crazy.” With another dramatic wave, he sighed, “My brother. I thought that she’s your sub. You can tell me what I’m doing wrong. You can vouch for me and maybe help me out.”

Hanzo shook his head and stared at his folded hands in his lap. “I am not certain that I could do anything even if it was not unreasonable for me to do so.” Genji growled at him. “As it is, it is unethical for me to recommend you to her. I am here to guide her professionally, not to order her personally.” Genji growled at him again. “There is simply nothing that I can honorably do to help you—.”

Genji snarled viciously, “Are you fucking her? Is that why?”

Hanzo shot to his feet, almost knocking over the table. “I am not! I would never—!”

Genji cursed in Japanese and turned away. “I don’t believe my own brother would not at least put in a good word for me.” Without waiting for Hanzo to reply, he swerved and rose to his feet. “It’s like you hate me.”

Hanzo grunted and picked up the table. “I do not hate you, Genji. I never have.”

“You hate me. You hate this fucking armor and that I’m practically a monster. Even before that, you hated me, so now that I’m trapped in here, you hate me more.” Hanzo’s face flushed and his hands balled into fists but Genji shouted, “And you know what? You know what?!” He stalked up so close their noses almost bumped. “You do not hate this any more than I do! There is literally no fucking way that you can possibly hate this more than I do!

“And I do hate it, Hanzo. I hate being a monster. I hate being a deformed man trapped in a robotic shell. I hate being a tin man and being treated like either a fairy tale villain or... or some kind of appliance. I hate being good enough to fight beside everyone, to risk my life, to save the fucking day—but not good enough to get a second date.” He slouched down with a scowl. “Or—in this case—a phone number.”

Hanzo took in a deep breath. “I have no doubt that you, firstly, have not already gotten a full notebook about her with every detail about her written down.” Genji’s red face was all the answer he needed. “Armed with that information, I have no doubt that you have already worn out your welcome trying each of the conventional ways to reach her.” Genji sullenly nodded. “If not this one, then another will come along and—.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t give me that ‘there’s more fish in the sea’ shit,” Genji snarled. “I’m just going to go and take my abominable self somewhere else.”

With that, Genji stomped out of the Hanzo’s apartment. He could barely see straight right now—hell, without the Omnic enhancements in his face plate he was actually having trouble seeing at all—and for the very little it was worth, he wanted to feel the air on his skin.

What was left of it, anyway.

His skin.

He snarled at himself. Hanzo had left him barely alive. He had broken ribs, a smashed wrist and elbow on the right side, a wild concussion, and both knees destroyed. The medics who saved him cobbled parts together like mad scientists and he came out a monster of mismatched metal and red veins of fluids that kept him alive even as they glowed like blood. He had smashed through every mirror—every reflective surface he could find—as they kept him penned up like a rabid dog. When they finally released him from the medical bay, he had run from them all and had destroyed the very first garden he came to.

The Blackwatch commander had found him there, kicking a cracked tree trunk with all of his artificial strength. Gabriel had wisely decided to simply stand there as Genji’s energy failed him (even thought his strength and endurance could not) and his generation one batteries had gradually worn down. And when he had fallen, surrounded by broken branches and pulverized flowers and ripped up turf, Gabriel had stepped forward with a two liter bottle of tequila and simply listened. Nothing fazed him. Nothing surprised him. Genji ended up confessing everything, hoping to see that flicker of fear or surprise—trafficking women through brothels and over countries, drug deals, weapons deals, bribery, hacking of computers at every conceivable level, and every sort of crime for which there were laws. Rather than disgust or anger or censure, Gabriel had only nodded and offered more of the potent tequila.

Then, Genji discovered his personal hell. He couldn’t get drunk. He finished the bottle, minus the two shots the Latino had, and was as stone cold sober as when he started. He couldn’t feel even a little bit of a tingle, of lightheadedness, of relaxation. Nothing. Not even when Gabriel had casually commandeered a heavy transport, blithely driven off the Watchpoint base to a liquor store, and bought two more bottles of tequila. Then, Gabriel had taken him to his office and they had gone through—more precisely, he had gone through—both bottles. At the end of it, they had simply nodded in a mutual understanding unlike anything Genji had ever known before and he had volunteered as a Blackwatch agent.

It was water under the bridge, now, of course.

He scowled as he kept walking. Not one date. Nothing. He hadn’t dated or anything while Blackwatch called his shots. It was too risky. Things were too prone to becoming life or death, split-second decisions. It took a long time, a very long time, to finally get his life together. He had been cobbled together with random parts and spent probably the first two years trying to get parts that just matched rather than a huge joint on one side and a piddling little one on the other side. He had almost died more than once from parts shattering or even simply falling apart in the field. Then he would be drug back, the scientists and doctors would pore over his broken parts and forge him new ones to be stuck onto him.

Finally, after seven or eight years, they had come up with a workable body. It was sleek, smoothly curved, as opposed to the earlier creations. The red solution—a cutting-edge lubricant years ago—was replaced with the blue fluid that Bastion used, then a new green substance that someone from MIT got their PhD with. At least the new stuff glowed green, rather than red so he looked more like an Omnic hero than a villainous and blood-soaked ronin.

Genji sighed bitterly and kept stalking. Of course, Hanzo couldn’t possibly understand. He was whole, a human male in the prime of his life. He had ten toes, two feet. Despite the rough yakuza world that had sculpted them both, he had two hands and ten fingers. He was wholly and completely human—able to eat, drink (and get drunk), and fuck without worrying about springing a leak and getting lube on his sheets.

Without a real direction—and he had hours before he needed to go plug into his recharging station—he climbed up the side of the administration building. It was notable, even majestic, with the large memorial garden on the roof and the huge sculpture on the top. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was supposed to be—a robed, large breasted woman with immense, feathered wings holding up a torch and holding a sword straight out over the garden, surrounded by rippling waves or cloth or something. She—at least, he assumed it was a she despite the bulky and defined muscles—presided over all of the ceremonies, holding her torch to light the way and her sword straight-armed over any assembled. At her ten-foot tall base, there were discrete little brass squares with names, ranks, service dates and short one-liners for shiny obituaries for those who were lost in the battles against evil. She was about 18.67 feet tall from her impeccably groomed and pedicured bared feet to the circle of laurel leaves that tilted improbably over her sculpted hair, plus another ten for the base. At this time of night, they lit up the edge of the gardens to keep anyone from accidentally falling over the side, but the statue was largely in shadows since no one was there to appreciate her. As such, it was a perfect place for Genji to climb up and to brood with the entire base under his gaze.

He slouched on her head and sulked, doing nothing worthwhile. He spotted Agent McCree’s huge motorcycle roar off base and turn towards the brighter lights of town on the horizon. The little transports with the blue lights that held the rotations of base security toddled down the roads. There was a flash of light that sped past them—undoubtedly Tracer out for her jog.

He could see them.

Little groups, couples, and families going back and forth. A young couple was chasing two small children off the tiny playground by the barracks. A family was on bicycles or something as they wobbled further out with their wheels lit up as they bounced along the fitness trails. There was a slight gleam as if from candlelight and two faces were lit up from their isolated place on the parade grounds. Little glimpses of connections and relationships that glowed almost on their own.

His teeth ground with a whir of machinery. He was still real in the ways that counted. His heart still beat in his chest behind his metal supported ribs. He breathed with real lungs. He had hair, an annoyingly sparse thread of a mustache and a scrubby patch on his chin that he still needed to be plucked around the Omnic mesh that helped him move his jaw and formed an anchor for the face armor and mask. His thighs were there—even if both knees were now fully motorized. His ass and dick were real. So what if he couldn’t get drunk or high—and he had tried quite enough to be convinced—and he couldn’t see as well as he could with his helmet? He was real in all the ways that counted.

Right?

Still, he was on the outside. An “other”. A “machine”. The one that everyone could talk to, but no one could date. The “just friends”—if he got even that far. And it killed him to constantly see everyone get a date except him. Even Hanzo had managed to score once or twice—certainly he had escorted a few women around.

He had been the Shimada Playboy. The Shimada Sparrow on the streets of Japan. The Duke of Desire—a stupid title one of the tabloids gave him—and the Shimada Seducer. He had been able to score a phone number of anyone in minutes. He had lovers and booty calls everywhere, in every province. He could sleep with anyone, anywhere, and if he happened to get valuable information in the process, what of it? He was legendary that he had been able to sleep with the coloratura soprano of the Tokyo Opera in one of the boxes during intermission. He had had a reputation that would make Don Juan and Casanova blush—and gay.

Now, he was here, in the cool night air, sitting on the head of ‘Victory’ or ‘Justice’ or whoever this was, watching the world go by. People just went back and forth, going along their little lives and making their own little memories that would sparkle all throughout their lives while he lurked in continual darkness.

Genji scowled, looking down over the whole base as it sparkled and lived and breathed at his feet. The detailed ridges of hair sparkled green at his feet. Annoyed, he turned off all the lights, making the alien glow fade and the shadows grow. It was better this way—he didn’t need to be a glowing green target on top of the damn thing.

He sighed, staring at the various flickers of lights and the groups moving to and fro. There was nothing for him here. Nothing he could do. Nothing that would ease this terrible... craving. He had been addicted before—that crazy need, that high before the fall, the shaking and pain as he tried to find the next fix. He had known desire before—the assorted beauties of Japan that he could summon at a breath that would fall into his bed. He had known need. But this was nothing like he had ever felt before.

Strangely, his need had the sound of a plaintive violin.

He cocked his head to follow the thin melody. His helmet let out a soft sigh and a click as the visor lit up on the inside. He zoomed in, going silently and smoothly to the feet of the statue and he found the humanoid heat signature glowing orange. It moved slightly and he saw a stick shaped part wave out at the chin. With another thought, he moved his microphone setup forward to catch every nuance of sound.

She played on, a nocturne that sounded sad and mournful and echoed in the stillness of the garden. Most of the notes were pure and steady, but then she would strain or shake and the next few would squeak out like a teenage boy’s voice cracking. Finally, there was a rough scrape of sound like cement blocks grinding together and she simply sank to the ground.

He could hear her sobs as clearly as if he was standing right there next to her. She just sort of collapsed there with her violin a dull color shift in her hand. Plainly, she thought herself alone as she played. Equally plainly, she was weeping in her agony, whatever it might be.

He switched visors again, little icons changing at the peripherals of his vision as he switched from infrared to ultraviolet (who honestly thought that was ever going to be useful?) to visible light spectrum to a microwave to electromagnetic sensing to basic light enhancing. She sat there, waving her bow idly over the ground as she shook.

The microphones picked up her sighing. “There is nothing I can do, Father. There is nothing.... Nothing I can d-d-do anymore.” The violin hit the ground with a ear-shattering clatter with the sensitive microphones trained on her. “I cannot go on. I cannot. Just... no....”

Genji took a sample of her voice as she wept. That was simple enough. With scarcely another thought—an a few almost imperceptible twitches of his fingers—he logged into Athena and began the tedious scanning and crossmatching her voice against samples in the database. In less than a minute, he had the entire population of the base narrowed down to five possibilities.

She moved away, then, picking up her instrument and stumbling through the paths of the garden. He watched her, scraping softly over the sculpted head as she seemed to orbit him below. He could tell her shoulders were slumped heavily as she lurched to the base of the statue. Her fingers went up to the brass placards and she traced over the tops restlessly before stopping at one.

“Father—this is... all I have to remember you by. A brass placard.” Her voice cracked again in a plaintive whine. “And... why did you tell me that I had talent? Why did you...? Why did you lie? Telling me that I could... I could play my mother’s violin when so plainly I cannot?”

Genji chuckled and turned on the speakers so that she could finally hear his voice. “You only need practice.”

That made her gasp, shooting to her feet and whirling around. “Who... who is there?”

Genji took a long moment before answering. A very long moment. What was he to say except that he was here first? And why did that sound like a terribly childish thing to say? Of course, maybe he shouldn’t have spoken at all. But this was titillating, exciting, to be this ghostly voice above her, so he switched his vocal speakers to become slightly deeper, more reverberation. “Just a friend.”

“Oh!” she whispered. “Why are you hiding?”

“I like it,” he muttered.

“Oh.” She raised the violin up. “Do you play the violin, too?”

He should have said, “Not for a long time”. 

What he really said was, “You need to work on your wrist strength. The last arpeggio fails because you lack control.”

She plopped down on the cement and stared at her instrument. “Well, how the hell do I improve that?”

Genji should have called it off right then, said goodbye or just left. If he had a lick of sense, that was what he would have told himself to do. Instead, he simply said, “Meet me here after dark.”

“What?”

“Meet me here. 8:30.” He smiled down at her. “And I’ll teach you how.”

“But... what am I to call you?”

He said nothing, despite what she said. She circled the statue several times, calling out, before she left in confusion. For some sorry reason—he was elated. He had a second meeting—even if it wasn’t a date, per se. It was a reason to get out of the charging station in the morning.

He was climbing ‘Justice’ or ‘Victory’ or whoever she was just after the dinner hour. He lurked right behind the crown, waiting for night. Never had a sunset been so majestic as it led the way for full dark, and the hours rolled through. He almost wondered if she’d come, but it was fun anticipating it.

And, to his surprise, at 8:26:39.992, there was a heat signature, moving towards the statue. Genji couldn’t remember being this surprised in ages, to see her coming forward with her instrument. And at 8:29:33, she was busily circling the base of the statue, calling out.

“Hey, stranger—are you here? Where are you?” Genji grinned at her from above. Finally, she puffed out impatiently, “Well, Christine—you got yourself into a mess this time. Who would be the one idiot trying to come out to an empty garden to see if you can get advice from a disembodied voice?”

He was too busy smiling to himself to answer at first. He almost didn’t make those slight voice changes to his mask, but thankfully, he did remember before answering. “Christine?”

She jumped with a squeal. “Oh! Umm.... you’re here.” She waved the violin. “Okay, so here I am.”

Genji gaped down at her. Never had he considered that he’d actually have to... to teach her something. Instead, he muted his external speakers and asked Athena’s interface, “How do I teach violin?”

Athena’s interface connected and he saw a slight reflection of dots blinking as she downloaded the information requested. Christine paced below him as he frantically tried to make sense of the data. Finally, he said, “Can you... play a scale?”

“A... scale?”

Genji downloaded a violin synthesizing program—undoubtedly one of Lucio’s—and started testing the sounds. Through his speakers, he started the scale at middle C, going up and down seven notes.

Christine laughed at him and playfully skipped around the base of the statue. “Where are you?”

Genji let out a snort that bounced strangely around the cement in the garden. He let her bounce around garden, poking at shadows while he connected to Athena and got control of the speakers in the garden. It had seemed like a silly addition to his programming—more of a formality in case he was ever called on to make a speech because his robotics caused an endless feedback loop—but now it was invaluable.

He pushed his voice to a speaker at the corner. “You’ll never find me.”

She chased his voice, leaping forward to shout, “Caught you!”

He pushed his voice to another corner. “Not even close.”

She ran to the other end of the garden. Of course, he wasn’t there, but it was fun to watch her chase him over there. “Where are you?”

“You need to practice,” he purred from yet another speaker.

She laughed out loud and stopped where she stood. The violin played the scale easily. He could hear her sure notes, but more importantly, he could lay down on the statue’s head and compare the audio graphs of her music next to his rendition. He played the next scale a half-step up, 7 notes up and down, and listened to her play it. A half hour later, he noticed that her graphs were starting to weaken go flat compared to his.

“Hold on there,” he chuckled. “Do you hear how you’re going flat there?”

“Oh?” she asked breathlessly.

“Listen again,” he chuckled while the reverb made him sound even more mysterious. He played the scale again with long, slow tones. “Now, try again.”

She tried again, the notes slightly better. “How was that?”

“Ummm... try again.”

She was climbing up the scale when they both heard a rumble of thunder. He muted his speakers and stared at the sky. Another long fork of lightning whipped through the clouds and Christine laughed, “What about tomorrow?”

He just about fell off the statue, but caught himself on carved laurel crown. Instead, he pushed his voice to several speakers at once, “I’ll see you at the covered pavilion. Pavilion number... 3. 8:45.”

“Okay,” she giggled as rain began pattering around the garden. “See ya.”

He watched her run off again with the rain chasing her steps. The armor registered the drop of temperature, the tapping of the rain on the metal, but it wasn’t like feeling the droplets splat on his chest and arms. He stayed there, looking up at the cloudy sky as the storm rolled in. Too bad that he was completely made of conductive materials. He rolled off the statue just as another lick of lightning arched across the sky and sprinted back to his home.

All night, he downloaded information on violin lessons and proper technique. Suzuki method. Musical theories and technique. His head ached as he listened to recording after recording as he recharged. He wasn’t sure he even actually lost consciousness since he heard the violin throughout the night.

The next day, he was busily hacking the rest of the speaker systems when he heard Christine’s voice behind him. “Hey—do you have a moment?”

Genji froze over the little speaker and hastily adjusted a few of his settings on his speakers from inside his armor. He cringed at the slight squeak as he replied, “Sure.”

He spun to stand up in front of her, frowning as he considered what her reaction would be. She was petite and stood barely up to his shoulder. The first thing he noticed was the sprinkle of cinnamon freckles across her upturned nose. Her hair was in a riotous pile of red curls that was barely held back into a ponytail by the thick white scrunch. Next he stared at her direct, fierce brown eyes and the way that she kept holding his gaze.

“Umm... sir—were you in the Victory Garden a couple of nights ago?”

He shook his head, glad for the first time that he normally wore the entire faceplate with his helmet. His voice was squeaked again like a teenagers as he said, “No... I don’t think so.”

Her head cocked and she kept watching him, directly into his visor. “Are you sure?”

“Sorry.”

Christine gave him a slow nod and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I guess I was wrong, then.”

“Wrong about what?”

“I... met someone.” Her cheeks flamed up and she tucked a hair back away from her face. “But... I guess... it’s not you.” Suddenly, she frowned and cocked her head. “His voice was much deeper.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak again, so he shrugged. She tapped her chin again and her eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought that I recognized the accent. A rolling of the sounds, but I guess I was wrong.” She shook herself and gave him a sunny smile again. “Hey—maybe I will find him yet, right?” Before he could answer, she gave him a wave and turned. “And you have a brother, right? I’ll go talk to him next.”

He was frozen as she scampered off. Of course, Athena had already brought up her profile with a ridiculous amount of information. She was a blue-blood Overwatch—her father and mother were both career Overwatch members—and was on the officer’s path. Probably would make it all the way up since her scores for analysis, leadership and marksmanship were high. Her father—a trombonist—had been in the Overwatch marching band that played for official ceremonies and had met her mother—a violinist—there. They had been married for 32 years before a Talon attack blew up the base and killed her mother. Her father purportedly lasted another five years until Christine was enlisted before he died in what was described as a “broken heart”. She had auditioned for the Overwatch band, but had failed the musical auditions and was determined to get in next time.

He stared after her long after she left. What was he to do now? Keep switching between voices like some kind of schizophrenic ventriloquist?

Genji still didn’t know what to do the entire next week as he kept making night appointments with Christine. He would play a scale, she would repeat it up to a certain point, and then back down as low as she could go. If he hadn’t managed to find a number of articles on the Suzuki method, he would have been truly lost. He knew how to strengthen her wrists and arms, and could advise her on that, but that seemed pitifully little he could actually do to help her.

Heaven only knew that she deserved some kind of help for giving him time each night.

Hanzo cornered him at the end of the third week as he tinkered with the speakers around the Victory statue. “Genji-san... what is this?”

Genji leapt up and spun around to face his brother. “Ummm... hey, anija. What’s up?”

Immediately, Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“Uhh...wrong? No—why would there be?”

The archer gave him a skeptical look and muttered, “First, you are obsessed with my new mentee. To the point that you are arguing with me about not helping you. Next, you are looking at all of the speakers as if they would give you information about Talon. You remain all but invisible and play violin music constantly.” He leaned slightly to look at the speak just behind Genji. “And I find you here, messing with a speaker and... is that your voice?” Genji let out a little squeak. “Have you damaged your voice controls?”

“Ahh... uhh....”

Hanzo crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “I will report this to medical.”

“No... no. I’m fine.” Genji clicked and twitched and reset his voice settings. “There. See? Just fine. Fit as a fiddle. Just great.”

Hanzo simply nodded slowly. “I suppose.”

“Seriously, anija—I’m fine. See?” Genji put down the speaker. He’d have to mess with it later. “Just fine.”

“Indeed,” the archer nodded with a heavy sigh. “Are you going to continue to be fine?”

“Of course. Just fine.”

“Then, I will wish you good evening.”

Genji watched him leave with mixed feelings. If Hanzo had figured out that he was acting weird, then he needed to be more careful. At least Christine hadn’t been assigned to work with him—she’d know it was him instantly. He sighed—things were going well and he had something to look forward to each evening at last.

The night could not come fast enough and he scrambled above the pavilion to wait for Christine. He had postponed their meeting until 9:15 to make sure that it was dark enough that he wouldn’t be spotted, but who knew? He’d have to figure something else out, wouldn’t he?

Or tell her the truth.

Her voice came out to him, “Hello? Helllooooo?”

He pushed his altered voice through the first speaker. “Good evening.”

There was a giggle from inside the pavilion, beneath the roof he rested on. “Hi. I was worried you weren’t going to be here.”

“Where else would I be?” He paused for a breathless moment. “And do you have your instrument?”

“My mother’s violin,” she chirped happily. “I always bring it.” There was a long pause as he downloaded the musical exercises for the evening. “What do I even call you?”

“What?!”

“What do I call you? You’re a... disembodied voice that comes through the speakers. I spoke to Winston and he said that no unauthorized users were in the public address rooms.” Genji flinched inside his armor. “And you teach me music and exercises. But just calling you ‘Teacher’ sounds so odd. And ‘hey, you’ is disrespectful.”

“Odd?”

“I thought that you would have a... a name.” He could hear her pacing beneath him. “Or... do I get to pick out a name?”

Genji felt his throat close. This was the time to emerge, to show her the truth. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. Instead, he purred, “What name would you pick out?”

“Erik.” There was a beat of silence before she gave a shrill laugh. “I know—it’s stupid. I’m a Phantom of the Opera buff. That’s what I want to play for the next band auditions—the Overture.”

“Erik,” Genji sighed. It tasted foreign and... comforting. At last his persona had a name—and thankfully no ‘L’ sounds to trip him up. “Erik is a nice name.”

“Okay, Erik,” she giggled. “What do we work on now?”

“I thought we would try short bridges. Now, listen to my pattern.” He let the notes slowly roll out—ten of them. “Can you repeat it?”

Slowly and steadily, she played the first five notes, the violin squawking on the sixth. He smiled to himself and replayed the notes again. She echoed him through the entire phrase, so he added three notes. Again, she echoed the notes right back to him.

“Very good,” he praised.

“Of course, mon ange,” she giggled.

“What?!”

“In the story, Erik is the angel of music to Christine. She takes lessons for months, not knowing he is a mortal man who loves her dearly.”

“Ahh, and... you think I am your angel of music?”

There was that giggle again. “Are you not? I do not see you, but you give me lessons. All we are missing is the magical two-way mirror, don’t you think?”

“We should concentrate on your lessons is what I think. Now, repeat after me....”

Genji downloaded the entire book that night and got half way through it before he was forced to recharge. At least now he knew something about the music she wanted to play. He could lead her through the Overture. There were certainly enough recordings that he could pick one and say he was playing it back to her.

He postponed meetings with her for a week. He had to. He needed the time to adjust all the speakers. He got the ones in the conference room, the big hall that they held performances and indoor events in, the three pavilions, and two gardens. It was a monumental task, but at last he was tuned into all of them.

Finally, he got Christine a set of silvered, wireless earphones from the Beatboxes by Lucio collection. Those were easy to hack—a simple port that allowed new software to be downloaded and he had a dongle ready. But, he would be able to reach her whenever she wore them.

He decided he was ready again. He had isolated the exact violin melody from the 2018 cover and was ready to “play” it for her. He even had the spot picked out and was ready to broadcast it anywhere. She would discover the earphones and he would tell her that they were the “magic mirror”. She’d laugh and they’d get on with it and she’d never be the wiser.

Now, all he had to do was keep switching the voice modulation—and not talk too much.

Genji kept his jokes to a minimum which was likely going to kill him. He kept finding things funny and kept turning off his speakers to avoid saying anything. Then he’d forget that he was muted until someone asked him a question. Reinhardt had to ask him three times about his team before he remembered the external speakers were off. 76 had to ask him twice about the joint team mission next month before he remembered and even then he had to go through two voice switches to be on and in the squeaky high voice. The bulky man shook his head and muttered from behind his own mask to go get that checked out.

With a hesitant nod, he whipped around and went to the medical bay. The normally impersonal nurse took his information and plugged him into the diagnostic computer and then left him in the room. He stared at the computer, wishing that he had the expertise to hack that too. He was all right at simple electronics—speakers and microphones—and had been upgraded so that he could more easily get intelligence from Talon stakeouts, but a complex, encrypted and sealed up medical computer was beyond him.

Mercy came bustling in with her tablet and a smile. “What can I do for you today, Genji?”

He squealed, “Help me out, Doctor.”

She cocked her head and let out a giggle. “Is that... is that your voice?”

“Ummm.... Yes?”

She did giggle at that squeak. “What? Perhaps I should adjust your—?”

“No!” Genji groaned and it sounded like an arthritic grandmother’s rocking chair squealing. “Just... can you say something is wrong?”

She blushed and shivered before laughing. “I could definitely say that something is wrong, but it’s probably something that I could fix. Could you please hand me your mask? It’s probably something wrong with the—.”

“No! No... just... can you say that it’s....” He thought for a moment. “Can you... just say that it is a... a broken part? Something... hard to get. For a few weeks.”

She shook her head. “Now, Genji—you know I keep a bunch of your spare parts here. And whatever you need, we have the printers and the metalworks to manufacture most everything else.”

“Please! Please. Please. Please. Doctor—you have to do that.”

She snickered at the sing-song breaks in his output. “What on earth?”

“I... I have to disguise my voice.”

“But why?!” she demanded. “Genji Shimada you take off your mask right now and tell me what on earth is going on!”

He sighed and peeled off the faceplate. He knew his cheeks were red as a tomato as he took in a deep breath. “Look... just anything will work. A new part that will take a few weeks to replace or build. Something with my voice so no one asks questions.” Mercy scowled and shook her blonde head. “I’m.... uhhhh....”

“The truth or nothing, Genji. And I’ve had quite enough of your nonsense if you are not going to tell me the truth.”

“I met.. a girl.”

“What?! And what does this have to do with your voice?!”

“So, she... kind of doesn’t know it’s me. I’m sort of... tricking her.” He gave her a short shrug. “I’m going to... to tell her. But right now, she thinks... I’m....” Genji could barely even whisper it. “... she thinks I’m the Angel of Music.”

Angela looked... unimpressed. “I your beg pardon?”

“The Angel of Music.” He flushed again and couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Like... in... The Phantom of the Opera.”

“Like...?” She shook her head. “Like the book?”

“Like the book. Like the musical. Like the television miniseries. Like the movies.” He snorted and leaned against the examination table. “Like the breakfast cereal for all I know, huh?”

“Genji—be reasonable.”

“Just... give me a week or two. She likes that... that we practice together. Well, I play the notes through my speakers and she repeats them, and that’s kind of like the Suzuki method, right?”

“Probably not even close—but do go ahead.”

“So—a week or two. Then I tell her who I am and we see what happens. Promise.”

“You... promise?” Her eyebrows raised high, making her look like a school marm glowering over the tablet at her errant student. “You are going to tell her everything?”

“I swear. Look... I swear.” He grinned and batted his lashes at her, trying to give her the most puppy dog look he could. “Please—this is my chance to get a real date—.”

“Now I know that you are being silly!” she exclaimed. “You have people around you all the time.”

“And none of them will take me seriously as a man,” he puffed. “Every time that I try to take it up a notch, I get the whole ‘love you like a brother’ and ‘you’re such a nice guy’. Do you know that one of them asked if I could even... you know....”

“No, I do not know, Genji Shimada!”

“If I could still do it!” His whole face went tomato red again. “If I could still....”

“Could still copulate?” she supplied dryly.

“Yeah. But that wasn’t exactly how she worded it.”

“I can only imagine.”

“So, I am in with a chance.” He shrugged. “Look, even I don’t know if I can... you know. But this is... a really weird situation—a really, really weird situation—and I have a chance. A real chance to get to know someone without them being utterly stupid about the fact that I’m half a man.”

She sighed. “Look... I am going to do you an immense, personal favor. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and let you use whatever voice and whatever speaker setup you want. I will not volunteer that you came to me. I will not volunteer that you have absolutely nothing wrong with you. I will not volunteer that you have done this... this fraud to this girl.”

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere!”

“But, if I have even the slightest hint that you are harming this girl—. What is her name?”

“Christine.”

“Of course it is,” she sighed with a roll of her icy blue eyes.

“No—really, it is Christine.”

“If I get the slightest hint that you are harming this girl, or warping her sense of... of reality, or threatening anybody else she is in a relationship with—I am going to point the finger directly at you.”

“But—?”

“I have read the book. I have seen the movies. I have listened to the music and I saw it on Broadway,” she said dryly. “While I have a certain amount of sympathy for the Phantom and a certain... medical curiosity about what his actual condition or conditions might have been, I do not countenance any agent being treated like that.”

“Seriously?!”

“Seriously. I do not countenance threatening the Viscount Raoul. I do not support kidnapping or false imprisonment. I do not approve of any of that—do you hear me?”

“What?! What do you think this is?” he demanded. “Some kind of wild, improbable story that will end up in a happy ever after just because?”

“I think that you’re little play acting will backfire. Liars never prosper.”

“I thought that it was ‘cheaters never prosper’?” he grinned. “But hey—just... I’m not asking for much. Just if anyone comes around wondering why I sound weird, then just....”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “If you want to sound like a prepubescent boy, then it is your own affair.”

Genji grabbed her free hand. “Thank you.”

With that—despite whatever else she was saying—he slunk out of the medical building and vanished into the evening dark. With his lights turned off and his mask on, he became a blurry, gray shadow. His servos and joints were almost completely silent—compared to knees or toes that might crack. His mask switched to light enhancing mode and he was able to literally see in the dark as he sprinted through to the garden.

Christine was already there, practicing her violin and he cursed. She looked up and stared in his direction. “Is someone there?”

He was dim, but not as invisible as he had hoped. He hastily switched his voice to that annoying squeak. “Hey—are you... lost?”

She laughed up at him. “No. Sorry.”

He stepped up and turned on his lights. She blinked several times and waved at him. “Hey... you’re... you’re Genji—aren’t you?”

“That’s... right.” He gave her a short bow and a salute. “Don’t worry, Christine—I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Hey—how do you know my name?”

“We... uh... met before?”

She frowned. “I’m pretty sure that I didn’t.... You know what? It’s great to meet you.”

“I’m... Genji.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Christine.”

“Yeah.... So what are you waiting for?”

“Who says I’m waiting?”

“You can’t tell me that a pretty girl like you is not waiting for someone. Maybe a boyfriend?”

She shook her head. Now that he could see her, he could see she had stick straight black hair and dimples on her cheeks and deeply tanned skin with freckles on her nose. She was a lot more cute than her stock, profile photo that Athena provided him with. “Not hardly. I’m... just kind of settling in, you know?”

“So...,” he drawled low. His speakers squealed painfully. “What are you doing out here then?”

“I’m waiting for someone.” She gave him a smile. “My....”

“Yes?”

“My violin teacher.”

He cocked his head. “Oh?”

“He said to meet him here at 9:00, but I wanted to get here early to practice.” She shrugged. “I am working on a piece and he’s on the night shift and just now getting off.” Genji nodded, too afraid to say anything else. She pointedly waved at a passing security guard who waved back as he went on his rounds. “It doesn’t hurt anyone, right?” Suddenly, she frowned up at him. “Umm... there isn’t anything against me spending time here playing my violin? Right?”

“No—nothing against it.” He shrugged. “An artist is always welcome. Are you...? Are you—?”

“I’m going to try for the Overwatch marching band. Do you think that I’ve got a chance?”

He shrugged and went for ignorance that he hoped would keep his alternate persona safe. “I.... I’m sorry. I don’t know the first thing about music.”

She nodded and began fiddling with the keys of her violin. “Don’t let me keep you. I’m going to stick around here.”

“Okay. I’ll just... keep going.” He turned off his lights. “See ya.”

“You can... just turn them off?”

He spun around and looked at her. With a little click, he turned them back on. “Sure, I can turn them off. I can even make them blink.” He clicked them off and on, relieved when she laughed. “I can even make them different colors—that was my last upgrade.”

“Really?”

“Sure—what’s you’re favorite color?”

“Umm... I guess. Well, I don’t know—I like all of them. Pink and purple and blue and yellow.”

Genji held up his hands. “I can do two colors at a time.” Going through the menu system, he selected pink and yellow. “But... maybe I can cycle through them all?”

She laughed again and clapped. “Wonderful. I’ll bet you’re a hit at Halloween and Christmas!”

He switched his lights again—going to red and green. “Oh, Christmas Tree!”

She nodded again, giving him a bit more applause. “I... Would you like to stay and meet my teacher? He’s great. Maybe... maybe he knows a way to—.”

“No—that’s okay. I’ve got plans.”

“Are... are you sure? I mean... it’s a little creepy that I’m out here alone. At night.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry. I have plans.”

“Well... if you see him—tell him I’m out here, okay?”

He nodded and went walking away, keeping her in his scanner range. No one approached her at all—he was sure of that. Instead, he went to hide in another dark crook in the garden and began routing his real voice to the speakers near her. “Christine.... Christine. Come to me, Christine.”

She perked up instantly and began following his broadcast to go sit at another bench. He again was in darkness and she was in the light, where she wouldn’t be able to see him. If he ever got any kind of cloaking technology, he would be eternally grateful, but this was just enough that he felt safe going back to his planned lesson.

“Christine—have you been practicing?”

“Oh, yes, mon ange!” she cried out in glee.

“Let me hear.”

She played the first three bars of the Overture flawlessly. Genji smiled in his armor as she played—she was good. She’d be fantastic. He led her through the the next two bars, going a few measures at a time, and felt quite satisfied when she played them with only two squealing notes.

That was better than his fake voice at the moment.

“You are doing quite well, Christine,” he purred.

“Thank you, mon ange.”

“Practice well and... the day after tomorrow—I will give you a gift.” 

She squealed in glee and clapped her hands. “What is it?”

“If I told you, it would not be a surprise—would it?”

“Umm... but... you don’t know—.”

“Where you live?”

“Yeah.”

“I will leave it—.” He scrambled for an answer. “I will leave it where you can find it.”

She nodded slowly. “I... guess.” She plucked at the E string of the violin, making a staccato little note in the air. “But... when will I get to meet you?”

“Meet me?”

“Yeah. When do I get to see you?” Her eyes scanned the darkness. “That’s the next part of the story, isn’t it?” He had no ready answer for that. “I mean... I don’t have a nobleman waiting to whisk me off somewhere—so I guess that...”

“I will see you at the Victory Garden tomorrow night,” he hedged. “Would... 8:30 be better?”

She snorted, “If I could see you in the daylight—it would be better.”

“You—you want to see me in the daylight?” he croaked with only a slight quiver in his voice.

“Yeah. I’d like to see you. But... that’s not how this game works, right? I don’t see you. We meet only at night. And... and....” Suddenly, she packed up the violin and bow into its case. He could see her wipe her eyes and glance anxiously around again. “Thank you for... for being this kind.”

“This kind?” he whispered. The reverberation made it sound far more majestic than he actually was. “What do you mean?”

“I... I don’t know how you knew, but I really... really appreciate you doing all this. Making the time... playing your violin... All of this. It’s like I’m really in that story and... it’s... romantic.” Standing, she brushed off her uniform. “Thank you... for believing in me.”

With that hoarse little speech, she walked back down the path and vanished from his sight. He switched to his scanners, watching the little dot as she got to the street and then turned towards the residential buildings. Then even the little blip on his screen was gone.

The next day—the next night, rather—she had practiced and was quite fluent with the first four bars. So, he added the next bit, taking her through the notes with ease. He added yet another bit—barely four measures—and she was a trooper and struggled through it. So, he was quite comfortable with the thought of surprising her with the earphones on her desk tomorrow.

“One more time,” he advised. “From the top.”

She nodded and began tapping her foot to get her rhythm in mind. “Hold on... I’ll get it.”

“You are doing fine,” he reassured her.

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking around restlessly. “I... I hope I’m... making you proud.”

“Indeed. I am very proud of you.”

He was going to add something—maybe add the metronome tapping to his broadcast to the speakers—but there was a rustling and he heard someone else approaching. Looking down from the laurel crown, he was shocked to see Hanzo walk up. Of course, he was in his kimono and looking exotically formal and Genji just about gnashed his teeth to see him.

Hanzo didn’t react to this impromptu performance at all except to bow towards her. “Good evening, madam.”

She turned red and dipped into a clumsy bow. “Hello.”

Hanzo looked at her and nodded. “Forgive my intrusion. I was... hoping for some fresh air.”

“Oh!” she gasped. “I’m sorry.” Her unexpected giggle made Genji’s teeth set on edge. “I’ve.... I’ve had the run of the place for... weeks now. I... guess we kind of forgot that... someone else would be here.”

“Please, madam—I do not wish to intrude.” He gave her another low bow. “I will be happy to give you the space.”

She giggled again. “I think we’re about done anyway.”

“Truly? Then perhaps I could walk you home. It is very dark.”

“Oh—I’m... I’m fine.”

Hanzo nodded uncertainly. “If you are sure. If you do not mind—could you tell me what you were playing?”

Christine gave another of those little giggles and Genji scowled at his brother so far below him. “I was playing the Overture to Phantom of the Opera. Do... do you know it?”

Hanzo nodded sagely. “I am very familiar with it. It is one of my particular favorites.”

“You play?!” she gasped.

“I was given an... extensive musical education,” Hanzo replied. Genji barely had his speakers muted before the growl escaped him. They had both been well educated, but only Hanzo had enjoyed the music lessons they had been offered. “I enjoyed playing very much.”

She waved gleefully. “How wonderful—another musician. Could you show me?”

“I would be honored,” Hanzo nodded. “Forgive me if I am... rusty.”

She waved over to the older man and handed him the instrument. “Please... can you show me?”

Hanzo nodded and slowly approached with a graceful glide. He bowed again and cradled the violin before settling it under his chin. “Remember that you asked for this.”

The first three bars of the Overture—of course, Genji snarled, he would have that memorized—rolled out over the garden. By that point, Genji could barely see straight as Christine sighed and then clapped for Hanzo’s skill.

At the end of the third bar, the archer bowed and offered the instrument back. “It is a fine instrument, madam.”

She giggled and took it back. “Thank you. I’m... hoping to be as good as you.”

He nodded solemnly. “It is a skill that will come with many hours of practice. Do you have an instructor?” She nodded excitedly. “Then, perhaps you will find the expertise you seek.”

“I’m trying out for the Overwatch band,” Christine said happily.

“Would you permit me to be in the audience to hear your audition?” Hanzo asked solemnly.

“Sure!” she giggled with a curtsy.

“Then I believe I should leave you to your practice, madam.” Hanzo bowed again. “Thank you, once again.”

Christine was still giggling as the archer left. Genji growled and cut his connection to the speakers. He couldn’t stand the little sounds, so he even cut the microphones. The sudden silence was deafening as he laid on head of the statue, ignoring her. He stared up at the stars, ignoring the rustling and the calls of Christine beneath him until it was gone. He slunk down the immense statue and vanished into the shadows.

It was about lunch time when Genji saw Christine again. She was giving a thin, strained sort of grin to everyone as she walked through with her lunchbox. She didn’t notice him—of course she didn’t—but instead went to an empty table and pulled out her sandwich and a bottle of lemonade along with some chips. He stared at her from behind his helmet, glancing around slightly before letting his gaze go back to her. She gulped her lunch without seeming to notice and then piled everything back in her lunchbox.

He was going to go up to her, to talk to her, but Hanzo entered just then. He growled slightly to see Christine look up and do a double take at the door. She clambered up to her feet and scrambled around Reinhardt to go up to him.

“Mr. Shimada!” she smiled. “Do you have a moment?”

Hanzo paused, his eyebrows raised and a politely curious expression. “Yes, madam?”

She was almost bouncing as she got in front of him. “Umm... could I ask you a question? A favor. Could I ask for a favor?”

Hanzo bowed shallowly. “I would be honored to be of service.”

“Could you...?” She turned wildly red. “I... umm... About the tryouts.”

“Madam?” He smiled and nodded solemnly at her again. “Is there anything I could do?”

“Mr. Shimada—I was wondering.... if you could... perhaps help me out.”

“Please, madam, I would be honored if you would call me Hanzo.”

“Hanzo—please... I’d like for you to perform with me,” she burst out.

He blinked uncertainly and Genji smirked viciously under his helmet. Finally, he said, “I am not certain I understand.”

“I’d like for you to... to... well—play the Phantom.” She was blushing and almost leaping in her joy. “I thought it would be... nice—. Different.”

Hanzo smirked patiently. “I... must, unfortunately, decline. I do not have... the requisite costume.” He gestured towards his face. “And a half mask would be difficult to manufacture in the allowed time.”

She clapped slightly and giggled. “I was thinking more of a voiceover. You know—where the Phantom tells Christine to sing for him? I was thinking of a phrase here or there.”

He smirked and shrugged. “I would....” Genji grit his teeth and ducked his head. “... want to hear more. Perhaps we should go somewhere quiet to discuss this.”

Genji leapt up to his feet and stalked out of the cafeteria, just about brushing Christine as he did so. Of course Hanzo would want to assist her. And, of course, she would be thrilled to do so well, and who knew what disaster would happen to them? They might fall in love—get married, even. Then where would he be?

He scowled as he got to his little cubicle. There was the box of silvery headphones. Hanzo would never see this coming if he played a little trick. Maybe, he would do something—just a little something to remind her that he was supposed to be her Angel of Music. It would be a little trick—nothing really—and scare her good. So, he bided his time, blew off the meetings and training for today, and waited for her to go to the cafeteria for dinner.

Then, he got to her apartment. He tugged a joint on his left pointer and then his right. A pair of lock picks slid out from his fingertips and he went to work on her simple front doorknob. It clicked and he stepped into her front room. She had a large, autographed poster for the Hamilton musical and a second one for Love Never Dies. There was a splashy quilt across her couch with large blocks that were printed with lines of music and piano keys.

“You love your music—don’t you, Christine?” he murmured to himself.

Of course she did. She had a music player—an expensive, high end one—on a side table. She had her violin case and a stand with several scores on it. He saw that she had queued up several violin performances on her player and the screensaver on her home computer showed all kinds of photos of performances and silly images of her playing or posing with performers. She even had a picture of herself and an actor dressed as Andrew Lloyd Weber’s Red Death, complete with the elaborate hat and cape that he wrapped theatrically around her.

He picked up the quilt and folded it until there were three feet of the piano key printed blocks stretched across the cushions of her couch. Deftly, he arranged her music above that until her libretto stood above his keyboard. Then he moved the stand aside and put her violin....

Well, it would be stealing to take the violin, he reasoned. But, just a few more things—let her know that she was caught—so he put the violin in the small closet that held her air conditioning compressor and the water heater. With a perverse feeling of satisfaction, he unwrapped the shiny headphones and settled them in front of the sheet music. Hilariously, it looked almost like it was an organ.

As a final touch, he took one of her pieces of stationary—a one with a dark red treble clef and notes marching across the top and down the left until it became petals of a red rose—and a red pen to write “Pavilion 4, 9:30 p.m.” and then rolled the note and settled it around the earphones until the red dots glistened all over the shiny earphones.

Then he locked her apartment up. She’d tear up the place looking for her instrument and then come running to the pavilion. It was a delightful thought that she’d be worried for a few minutes and then come up. Of course, he would forgive her, soothe her, and advise her that he needed her whole attention and to stay away from his brother.

He’d even be her Phantom voice, if that’s what she wanted.

He waited. He hated waiting. He did wait, though, and climbed a tree not too far away. With his helmet’s telescopic and light gathering functions, he would be able to see her from here. The little speakers around the pavilion and the tiny Omnic bugging devices in the rafters would give him audio.

She came running up the path at 9:32. She had the shiny earphones in her hand and—he smirked—no instrument at all. He could hear the panting sobs as she staggered to wooden support. The little devices picked up her voice as it trembled and shook.

“Angel... angel!” He did not need 5K resolution to know that she had been sobbing. “Angel. My angel. Erik! Something horrible has happened.”

He snickered a bit before turning on his voice to the forward, left speaker. “What has happened, Christine?”

“Erik—someone robbed my... my apartment. They took my violin. I... I-I-I cannot play without it. I cannot... I cannot even try out.”

He forced a note in his voice that he hoped sounded sympathetic, rather than sarcastic. “Truly?”

“Erik—I am so sorry. I cannot do anything else.” He saw her collapse against the support, her face buried in her hands. “I do not know what to do! I have searched everywhere I can think of. I don’t know where it could be.” She let out a pained howl. “It is... gone. It was my mother’s. I don’t know what to do.”

“It will be fine,” he purred.

“No... I have to do a... a trial performance in a week.”

“It will be fine.”

“I don’t know how if I have no instrument to play.”

“You can listen to your music.”

“And my violin?”

“Play your little songs, Christine. Go listen to something soothing. Perhaps Evergreen? Perhaps something from Hamilton?” She shivered and sobbed. “You will be fine.”

“You don’t understand!”

“I will... assist you.” Genji practically rubbed his hands in glee. Or he would have if he hadn’t been hanging upside down from a branch. “I will speak to you again when your instrument is found.” She nodded wildly. “And another more thing....”

Christine looked around anxiously, wringing her hands. “Anything you want.”

“First—keep those earphones close. They are our magic mirror after all.” She wiped at her face and patted her black hair absently. “And you wouldn’t want to lose this between us after all.” 

She nodded slowly, her eyes wide. “Yes. I... I need the help. I am—.”

“I will not abandon you and I expect to be rewarded with your obedience.”

“Yes!”

“And I will be your Phantom at your tryout.”

She said nothing—at least, nothing he could hear—and finally gave him a nod. Then, sobbing, she left the pavilion. He watched her—her heat signature—as she stumbled away down the path. She paid attention to nothing and no one as she curved around towards the apartments.

He waited... semi-patiently until around midnight. Thankfully, he had a little bit of memory left that he could buffer small videos—video game walkthroughs, snippets of movies, trailers for movies—as he waited. He climbed down from the trees carefully and began the slow lope back to the apartment blocks. Her windows were dark and the apartment was quiet. He opened up his scanners and found nothing. His microphones picked up various snores and quiet murmuring, but nothing from her.

He picked her lock again and slunk into the shadows of her place. It would be simplicity to go get her violin, place it where she would see it. He crept to the closet and gently slid the door open. He reached deftly inside and found the leather case handle.

He would put it on her couch. Then he would speak to her through the earphones telling her to look for it. She would be grateful. She would be happy and then he would be her Angel of Music at least a few more days. He almost chuckled behind his muted speakers as he began easing it out.

There was an almost imperceptible tug on the case as he pulled it out. The thought “too late” rattled through his brain even as he saw the cord duct taped to the case. The string pulled and he saw the glass jar fall over. The jar shattered and he saw it hit the plate. A brilliant light flicked on and the jar shattered, scattering impact fireworks across the floor and setting them off with a rattle and snaps.

The rest of the lights flipped on and he spun around and looked up. Christine stood there with a pulse rifle aimed squarely at him. She was adorable in her lacy nightgown and ruffled hair and also terrifying with her square aim and the very large barrel pointed straight at him.

“What the fuck are you doing stealing my violin?!” she demanded in a hiss.

He let out a groan and released the violin. The case clattered to the bottom of the closet and he slowly stood and raised his hands. Christine snarled at him and jerked the rifle towards the couch. Genji very slowly slid to it.

“Sit. Down.”

He perched on the couch, staring up at her. The helmet flashed and showed readouts, analyzing the situation and showing him various bits of useful information. Her profile picture showed up at the corner of his vision, asking if he wanted Athena to forward more information. A small red symbol appeared over the end of her rifle, indicating it was armed and emitting the faint flashing symbol of warning that was commonly found in military and police arms. Two small dots appeared to indicate doors. It was a confusing amount of information to process while she was aiming at him.

“What are you doing in my apartment? With my violin?”

“It was... I was—.” He let out a low groan. Then he tossed his head and groaned again as he realized that he hadn’t switched the speakers. His own voice had rolled out and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “I was—.”

“You were breaking and entering. You were stealing my violin. You were... fuck. Were you going to rape me? Were you going to..? What? What possible reason would you have to take a fucking violin?” He heard the tears in her voice. “It was my mother’s violin. You had—.”

He could tell the exact moment that she realized it. “My God—you’re him. You’re Erik! You’re the fake Angel of Music. You’ve been playing me for a fool.”

“Christine.... Please, let me explain.”

“No. You’ve had your fun. Playing me for a foolish girl. Whatever hateful pleasure that you’ve gotten out of this—I hope you’re happy.” She lowered the gun and wiped at her face. “Fine. So... Genji Shimada has had his fun, right? Let’s make fun of the new girl and make her life miserable.” She powered down the weapon and lowered it and Genji took in a deeper breath. “Whatever. If you weren’t a goddam decorated hero, I’d blast you anyway, but fuck...”

“Please—let me explain.”

“Explain what? You can’t explain it. Not beyond being a miserable shit for... for... playing me.”

“I am sorry. Truly.” He slowly lowered his hands to perch them on his knees. “I was... You were... amazing. I....”

“Whatever,” she huffed. “Just leave.”

“I... I’m... sor—.”

“Just. Leave.” Genji opened his mouth and she lifted the weapon again, straight at his head. “I want you to just leave.”

“Yes.” He stared down the barrel, seeing the warning blip start up again. “Yes, ma’am.”

Very slowly, he rose to his feet in a way that human joints would have never withstood. She never wavered, keeping him in her sights as he crept to her front door. She was strong, steady, despite the odd hour as she waited for him to leave. He looked over at her and tried one more time, “Let me... explain—.”

“Get out.”

He heard the slamming of the door behind him and felt the ripple of the slam in his artificial feet up to his knees. For a moment, he thought that he could just turn and knock, but then he saw all of the lights flick on and he thought he saw one of the security cars start to pull out and head towards the building.

So, he climbed down the stairwell and went back to his own apartment. The downloaded recordings he had listened to for so long were silent. The computer simulations and synthesized melodies were uninteresting. The entire place was somehow more sterile and lonely without them.

He did absolutely nothing interesting for hours. It was worse than being at Hanamura when Hanzo and his father would leave him behind. Or worse when he would be right there, waiting for someone to make a move and unable to do anything except wait for the deal to be done. Finally, he plugged into the recharge station, trying to pretend that everything was just as it was before.

Nothing was right, though. The apartment was silent when he rose. There was no soft strain of violin music waking him up. There was no pleasant melody lingering in the back of his mind. There was just... silence broken occasionally by a soft tone reminding him of the next thing on his calendar.

He saw her at dinner.

Christine was sitting alone, poking at the bread bowl of tomato soup listlessly. He was surprised to see her eyes rimmed with red. She seemed to be completely uninterested in the conversation around her. Even when another woman—a blonde haired woman with sleek pin curls—spoke to her, Christine barely seemed to notice. Finally, someone tapped her shoulder and she jumped as if she had been tapped with a cattle prod. Whatever they wanted, she wasn’t interested and simply shook her head before going back to poking the bread bowl with her spoon.

He kept watching her, though. Even though she probably hated him. Even thought she didn’t seem to notice anyone doing anything around her. He simply kept watching her and praying for inspiration. Praying for some phrase or words to go and help her, heal that wounded and wary look on her face.

Genji couldn’t begin to imagine what he could say or do that might help. At least he did not need to keep switching his voice modulation, although the deeper and reverberating voice of “Erik” was actually kind of interesting. Finally, he stood and slunk out.

There was a long period that he wandered the base, wondering what to do. There was no point to his wandering, nor a destination, but it was filling lonely hours that he might have otherwise been spent with Christine. He passed a green quad where Zenyatta was holding court—a few other Omnics nodding in their mechanical way and a pair of agents laughing. No, he had no desire to share in their camaraderie and spend who knows how long simply sitting there. Instead, he turned and went down an opposite path until he could duck into an atrium.

Zarya stood there with a hand shovel in her gloved hands and an old leather apron on over the large denim pants and a form fitting tank top. “Dobryy vecher, Genji. Are you here to see the flowers?”

Genji stared as she stuffed the shovel in one of the immense pockets and picked up a couple of wire ties. There were huge basins and barrels and pots filled with huge bushes of every kind of rose imaginable. Several of the bushes had trellises of wood above them with wires gently tying the branches up.

Zarya was unconcerned with his silent intrusion. Instead, she shrugged and went back to the large, pink cabbage rose as she carefully wove the wire around it and tied the heavy branch up to the white ladder above it. Finally, she patted the thick pile of leaves and nodded.

“You have come to help, yes?” Without waiting for him to answer, she walked over to a large crate and pulled out a short pry bar. “Come. We will be quick.”

Genji limped over to where she was working to open up a heavy box. Zarya was not bothered at all and began handing him huge pieces of the box. He cocked his head to see thin curls of wood and sawdust and small balls of cotton. “Hurry—we must hurry.”

“What’s so important in here?” he murmured as she stuff his hands full of curls of wood and sawdust. “What’s in there?”

Suddenly, Zarya’s gloves began to crawl with delicate little ladybugs. They crawled up and began exploring her large hands. As soon as she was able to open up another plank, a cloud of the insects burst out and began busily scurrying all over everything. Zarya’s pink hair was dotted with red and she only smiled lightly as one landed on her cheek.

Finally, he blurted out, “Ladybugs?”

“Da. Good bugs for the roses.” She waved and another wave of ladybugs scrambled out and floated on the air towards another rose bush. The heavy white blossoms shivered as the bugs began to land on their leaves. Reaching down, she pulled again and another wave came out. She seemed about to say more, but was silent as she picked up the pallet and began shaking it upside down and more insects poured out.

He watched as she scooped up a handful of bugs in her huge hand—who knew that there were that many bugs in that pallet?!—and went to another bush to get them there. “Da. Good bugs.”

“What?” he asked.

She muttered in Russian as she kept scattering the bugs around, shaking the pallet over the beds and trellises of roses until it seemed that the entire place was crawling with shiny red dots. Finally she was done and set the pallet aside before going to a cluttered bench with large plastic bottle.

“What happens now?” he asked, mainly to keep some kind of conversation going.

“I mix nectar,” she replied, waving him over. In her hand, the paper packet seemed small, but when she poured out the powder into the large bottle, it was actually a lot and the water she added to it was instantly cloudy. Then she added a pump top and gave the whole thing a heavy shake. “Feed them.”

She pumped the bottle a few times and began spraying the nectar on the first bed. “So, why is ninja watching?”

He jerked himself awake. “What?”

“First time in here,” she murmured. “So... something is wrong, da?”

“I screwed up,” he murmured. His metal hand went to a yellow rose and a ladybug crawled up to investigate him. “And... I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Ahh,” she nodded. “Bad troubles need good friends.”

“I suppose,” he whispered. “But damned if I know what if I can do about it.”

“Just talk,” she advised with a sage nod to her head. “Roses listen.”

“The roses listen?”

“Da. Not like others. They listen and don’t judge.”

He shrugged idly. “I suppose.” The bug apparently did not find him appealing, and so it flew off somewhere. “But—.”

“Then, talk.” She let out a huge laugh that filled the room. “I need more nectar.”

With that, she left the room, dusting bugs off her shoulders and arms and hands as she carried the sprayer bottle off. Genji watched the door for a long time before he went to sit on the edge of a raised bed. The room buzzed softly as the insects flew around from plant to plant. A hum started as a fan spun up to stir the air. At some point, there was a soft ding and then a hiss as water began filling some kind of sprinklers or drip hoses or something. Then there was a soft sound of drops of water hitting the plants and beds and he could detect the smell of humidity through the air intake of the armor, along with the myriad flavors of roses.

Genji sat there, simply thinking about what to do. The bugs began settling under leaves and into the buds and flowers and gathering around what he assumed were droplets of nectar. When he switched to his heat sensing visor, he saw the little dots of yellow moving around in gradually smaller and smaller ways as they apparently were happy to be in their new surroundings. Still, one sat on his leg and when he switched visors again, its tiny white eyes seemed to be staring up at him.

“What do you want?” he hissed at it. “I don’t have anything you want.”

It began crawling around in a lazy oval, testing his metal armor and ignoring him. Still, it was a comfort that this mindless creature was not afraid. It had no problems, investigating him, learning about him. With a sigh, he touched a rose to pick up a bit of nectar. Ever so slowly, he touched the droplet to his thigh, where he guessed it would eventually go. Sure enough, the bug crept there and found the little droplet. After a moment, it flew off but then returned with a second little bug so that they both drank up the droplet before flying away.

“So even you don’t like me,” he hissed.

“Nyet—ladybugs like everyone,” Zarya said from the doorway. “They bring more to safety only.”

“I guess,” he muttered with a sour note in his voice.

“It’s true.”

He shrugged and went to a white rose bush that was bursting with heavy blossoms. The bugs were settling under the leaves, close to the stems. “They don’t care, I guess, about anything.”

“They live. They eat and drink,” Zarya said as she began spraying another bed. “They want to live.”

“Little buggy families.” He noticed another little bug had begun crawling on his thigh and apparently found the last traces of nectar there. “Shame I don’t have one, huh?”

“Hanzo is not?” she asked.

“He’s my brother,” he nodded. “But... hell... it’s not like having....”

“A girlfriend?” she finished for him. “Nyet. But you are not alone, da?” She waved at the room. “We are here.”

“I screwed it all up,” he whispered.

“Eh?”

“I lied and... and pretended. I... wanted her to like me, but....” He shrugged eloquently. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“A nice girl?”

He smiled under his armor. “Yeah. She was nice. Talented. And on the officer track. Going to be a success.” The roses nodded slightly at him. “She could play the violin, too. I hacked the PA system so that... she couldn’t find me.”

“Eh?”

“I thought that she’d... be repelled by this mess,” he hissed, gesturing at the armor. “No one else can see past it. So, I figured I’d... play a trick on her. Try to... meet her outside of it.”

“And she got angry,” Zarya concluded.

“Yeah.”

“Nothing else?”

“I... I got mad that she was—. Hell, she was talking to Hanzo and... and I thought that she’d go running to him.” He sighed and batted away the little ladybug. “I thought she’d be like the rest—and I’d never have a chance.”

“It’s bad,” she rumbled. “But not impossible.”

Before he could say anything, she pulled a heavy set of clippers from a huge pocket and began clipping some of the roses. In minutes, she had a thick bouquet of all sorts of colors. “Give flowers. Apologize. Make things right.” With that, she gave him a huge thumbs up and a playful wink. “Tell her what you need to.” She waved again at the garden. “And roses always listen.”

He stopped at his own apartment and got a sheet of paper. Lacking more to say, he started writing an apology. It was going to be a few sentences, but it spun out of control and he ended up writing a half page. God, it sounded maudlin and syrupy—he was sorry he lied to her, sorry about the deception. He added that she was beautiful, too. Talented. That she should always follow her dreams. She should always follow her dreams. He was so sorry.

He waited another half hour and crept back in to her apartment. At first, he wanted to break in again, lay the bouquet out where she would see it on her couch. Or pose it next to her violin. Then, it seemed a foolish thing—to break in and shatter whatever small amount of trust she might in him. So, he left bouquet by her door with the note held down by a rock. It was too late to knock on her door—far, far too late—so he was forced to simply leave it there.

The next day he slunk around. At least he didn’t have to keep his voice speakers on that annoying squeaky tone. He didn’t have to mute his voice, either. So, the truth had some benefits. He didn’t need to worry about who could hear him. And, as another side benefit that he did not appreciate until later, he didn’t even worry about who was watching him or what they were saying.

He was drawn to the Victory Garden, though. He climbed to the top and stared morosely over the base, watching everyone go on about their little lives far away from him. He was simply there, waiting for the next loss, the next defeat, the next thing that was going to rip him out of everything he knew like he was a weed plucked out of a garden to be tossed aside in a rubbish heap.

Then, he heard the most amusing and unexpected thing—a wandering scale of a violin. He paused, cocked his head and listened. There it was again—a scale stepping up 7 notes and then down again. He uncoiled from his brooding crouch to stare down at the base of the statue. Christine walked around it twice, her violin at her chin, and then she walked away. He paused, saying nothing, and then crawled down when he was certain that there was no one to watch him.

There at the base of the statue was a yellow rose.

He kept the bloom, holding it carefully in his grasp until he got back to his apartment. In the privacy of his own space, he took out a small glass and filled it with water to hold it. Whatever she might have meant by it, he took heart that maybe she didn’t hate him. So, he kept up his duties, kept a false smile on his face and did all of the meaningless small talk to whoever was nearby, and came home to stare at the yellow petals as they gradually faded and fell.

He saw the posters and got the emails about the auditions and finally managed to care enough to go seek out Christine again. She was in a small side room with her violin and the shiny earphones, oblivious to everything as she studied the music in front of her. He waited until she looked up and then jumped with a gasp.

Taking off the earphones, she flushed and looked up at him. “What is it? Is the all hands meeting—?”

“N-n-n-no,” he stammered. “I... just wanted to... to listen.”

“Why?” she demanded hotly.

“Because... you’re good. Because... I want you to get in,” he whispered as he took a chair. “You’re really, really good, you know?”

“You’re just saying that,” she hissed.

“No—you’re far better than I am.” He shrugged and shook his head. “I guess Hanzo got all the musical talent—.”

Christine stared at him with a frown. “But... you were teaching me...?”

He took in a deep breath. “I... I downloaded lessons. Ideas.”

She cocked her head and stared at him. “You... what?”

“I downloaded the music, the lessons—everything.” He nodded at her violin. “Hanzo actually... liked the lessons and I... really hated them—until I heard you playing.”

She gave him a slight nod. “Oh.”

“But, I’d really like to hear more.” He wanted a moment. “But I’m sorry... I goofed it up.”

“Goofed it up?!”

“That sounded better than saying ‘I really fucked it all up by not being honest’.” He looked at her and added, “I’m sorry—for everything.”

That made her pause, but then she whispered, “Why did you do it?”

“It... was really... nice to have someone not... judge me by the... outside.” He gestured towards the armor. “And... even I have to admit that this is....”

“It’s okay,” she whispered back. “It’s... actually kind of... pretty.”

“You know—this is the first time that anyone has said that.”

“Really?” She blinked at him in surprise. “But ...?”

“Never mind,” he sighed. “It’s... not important.” He pointed at the violin. “That is, though.” He would have coughed, but instead he asked, “How are your scales?”

“Still trying to be the Angel of Music?” she grinned.

“No.... Just—. You know what? Never mind. Forget that I said anything.” He climbed to his feet and turned towards the door. “Good luck on your performance.”

“It’s ‘break a leg’.”

He glanced back at her. “What?”

“It’s... ‘break a leg’.” Unbelievably, Christine rose and came up to him. “It’s supposed to be that you wish for something bad to happen so that you have good luck—or something like that.”

Under his helmet, Genji grinned. “That sounds... very Japanese to me.” He shrugged and waited. “In the old days, it was to keep evil spirits away. So, everything was terrible. Children were ugly and times were always tough—no matter what happened. Someone who would offer you a drink would say ‘it’s terrible, but please accept it anyway’ and then you’d say ‘oh no, it’s fine’ or something.” Christine smiled with a look of confusion. “It’s from years ago—generations ago. To tell the truth, it sounds really silly now.”

That made her laugh and Genji couldn’t resist smiling underneath the helmet. “But... really, you sound good.”

Finally, she asked, “Could you... help me?”

“You’d do that?”

“Well... I was thinking.... I kind of asked for it.” She flushed and shrugged. “I mean, I... I was really.... It was kind of romantic. Kind of like the story.” Finally, she looked away. “I... was swept away and....”

“I’m sorry.”

Finally, she sighed, “I am, too. I really didn’t give you a chance.”

“I want to start over.... with the real me.”

She looked up at him curiously. “What is the real you?”

“You want to see... me?” Genji paused thoughtfully as she nodded. “Really?”

“It’s too soon, right? It’s too soon.”

Genji backpedaled. “I... I don’t know. I mean—it’s great that... we can still be.... Whatever we are. But... under here is a wreck.”

“Wait... what?”

“It’s... not pretty. And it’s not like we don’t have other things going on.” She opened her mouth to protest and he jumped in to add, “Like your auditions.”

Christine allowed him to change the subject like that and Genji was not under any illusion that she was allowing it, rather than any charm on his part. They went through scales and exercises that he had downloaded. She actually laughed, nodded slowly as he kept repeating the scales and going through the Overture.

“You’ve got the notes,” he had to admit.

“It still doesn’t sound right,” she grumbled.

“It won’t until you get into the auditorium,” he snorted.

She giggled. “Maybe you could auto-tune me or something.”

“That’s cheating,” he protested playfully.

“And you’d know all about that,” she grinned.

“Maybe.” He shrugged eloquently. “But you would hate it if you got in by cheating.”

She nodded. “I guess.”

“But... I’ll keep helping, if you want.” Genji took in her weary nod. He thought for a moment and offered, “But I can help you spice up the presentation.”

That made her smile widely at him.

Weeks later, Genji sat in the back of the auditorium, listening to the murmurs as people sat in the audience. They had spent so much time, just practicing and practicing. He had gotten her a thick putty that she could mold and squeeze to strengthen her hands and wrists, even going to the base gym to lift weights together—which she claimed was cheating since he was enhanced by his cybernetics. He had laughed and gotten her a bottle of water rather than answering.

Still, she was right about one thing—he did enjoy certain advantages.

The house lights went down and the stage lights came on. A uniformed woman came on stage to introduce the judges and the competition. Everyone was trying out for the spots on the marching band that would play at formal events, ceremonies, and... God forbid, funerals. Occasionally, they’d be on call to do benefit performances or help with fundraisers. The audience was probably filled with people just like Genji who were going to cheer for the competitors and they grew restless as they listened to the speaker drone on about the qualifications and competition rankings and point systems for style, creativity, technique and difficulty of selection.

Genji shifted in his seat. They had gone over all of this numerous times, but of course, someone had to do the official announcements so that no one could say they didn’t know. Probably everyone had gone over it a hundred times, but they needed to be sure that everyone knew, so they made the announcements at the beginning.

There was a variety of trumpets, drumming, clarinets and strings. National anthems and marches and various patriotic pieces seemed to be the common theme. Two people played college fight songs. A popular movie theme.

Genji sat up straight as Christine was announced as the next competitor. The Overwatch uniform did no one any favors, but he forgave it as she put the violin to her chin. The judges nodded and shifted their papers expectantly.

The first two bars were profound in their simple, dramatic melody. One could almost hear the drums, only to realize it was her stomping on the stage. Genji smiled and began fiddling with the speaker settings.

“Play my Angel of Music.” his reverberating, lowered voice echoed through the speakers in the back, right of the auditorium. “Play for me!”

The audience murmured and the judges looked shocked and amused as her music swelled. His heart felt too big for the armor around him as she gave a manic grin and swayed to the music. Her hands didn’t shake and her grip was strong as she shifted to a low, soft bar—the Phantom’s reply—and the judges started to grow uninterested. So, he waited for just a half moment more before adding a rolling drum rhythm as her music grew.

His deepened voice echoed out from a back speaker, “Play for me.”

That startled the judges and they whirled to see absolutely nothing there. Oh, she saw it too and her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashed in glee. He let his next words roll out from the central speakers above the stage and the judges were now decidedly—delightfully—confused as they were torn between her performance and her mysterious, highly improbably mobile Phantom.

For fun, he flickered the house lights. The audience shifted in uneasy excitement, caught up in the mysterious and thrilling music.

Oh, Christine loved it. That elemental thrill shot up through her, made her almost dance as he went silent. Again her music swelled and grew and filled the entire auditorium. Her eyes were bright and her smile was beautiful as she demanded the attention of the judges. The music filled her, made her better, made her sparkle and driven and all of the things that she could be.

They had made a slight change to the overture. Instead of the traditional ending, they had elected to write in the impossibly high bars for Christine from the duet. The trill just below high C, where the Phantom would be egging her ever higher—the judges expected the Phantom to appear. The next bar, he let that deeper voice hiss just barely audibly. One more bar and his voice was louder, deeper. The judges were in her grip now and he let the voice rip out.

“Play for me, Angel of Music!”

Then that impossibly high E above high C. Long and bold and pure and almost earsplitting in its intensity. The house lights cut altogether for three quarters of a second and the stage lights illuminated her.

Her note ended sharply and she bowed her head in the absolute silence of an astounded audience. The judges stared at her as she bowed again and Genji let out a wild whistle and clapped. The others in the audience stared at him for a second and then joined in, giving her echoing, throbbing applause.

The judges scratched out their evaluations with bowed heads. Finally, one of them cleared his throat and said, “Thank you, Christine. We will post your evaluation with the others.”

Only with the helmet visor could Genji see that Christine’s heart skipped a beat, that her pulse skyrocketed and she even, for a moment, held her breath. Then she nodded and took a last bow before walking off the stage. Silently, he crept out of the audience to the musty areas backstage.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him just outside the green room. “What did you think?”

“You broke a leg,” he said, tasting the unfamiliar idiom.

She laughed with red cheeks. “I guess so. Also—the lights? That was amazing. You brought down the house with all that.” She frowned. “I hope that the special effects didn’t disqualify me.”

Genji nodded. “I checked. You had to perform your instrument solo. You did that. No other violins were going. You had to show creativity. Got it. We even rewrote part of the music. Got it. There were no rules about the speakers. No rules about the lights. Anyone else could have done that—but we did it.”

She gave him an uncertain nod. “I know. We read the rules like a million times. But I’m still worried.”

He nodded. “Let’s blow off some steam. You deserve a break.”

He carefully walked her back to her apartment, grinning inside his mask. He couldn’t help his smug smirk when she unlocked her apartment, or when she shrieked in surprise at the massive bouquet of roses he had put just inside her doorway.

“Oh, my God, Genji!” she squealed, her violin case clunking to the floor. “This...? How?”

He gave her an eloquent bow. “I am a ninja.”

Christine giggled and flipped on the lights. In addition to the large bouquet just at her door, he had used every standard-issue glass in his apartment and filled them with water and blossoms. Pink and yellow and white and red and blends and smears of all kinds. Cabbage blossoms. Tiny buds. Huge and heavy roses that were drunk on their own scent.

“I wanted to be sure that you felt like... a star,” he chuckled awkwardly. “A... prima donna.”

She picked up the heaviest bouquet and carried it towards her kitchen. “Genji, this is too much. I mean, I was... Gees, one would be enough.”

He laughed and let his lights flicker in sparkling yellow. “But then you wouldn’t feel like a star, would you?”

Christine nodded. “So, now that you have surprised me yet again, Angel of Music, what else is in store?”

He gave her a shallow bow. “I can.... I suppose that I can go get something to eat. Something to drink.” He tapped the metal mask anxiously. “I don’t really know what happens... afterward. I mean, I know... kind of. I’ve been on dates before. But... not... with you.”

She laughed and he babbled on, “I mean, I’d love to take you out for a drink. There’s a great bar I know of and they do this cotton candy martini.” She nodded a little uncertainly. “Oh... too sweet? There’s a drink they do—Sugar and Spice—with a brown sugar and cinnamon rim, spiced rum and topped with apple cider. Do you... like—?”

She stared up at him. “Umm.... yeah. I.... Sounds good, but... I don’t.... What about you? Do you...? How do you drink in that get up?” She cocked her head. “Can you even drink?”

Very slowly, he disengaged the face shield and helmet. It slid off his head without fanfare and he looked in her general direction. Sweaty curls hit his face and his chin itched as the support mesh rubbed his slight stubble. “I can drink, but... it’s not a pretty sight.”

Genji held his breath as he heard more than saw her moving around. Finally, he murmured, “I know it’s not great, but this... face... is what’s underneath.” He shrugged again. “It’s been a long time since I have... let anyone see it.”

He waited for her to scream. To sigh and start the “let’s be friends” speech, but instead, she simply walked forward. He felt her hands brush his armor and then graze along his shoulders. Finally, she simply said, “Okay. It’s not bad. I mean, not that bad.”

Glumly, he added, “I suppose that this is where we talk about being friends? About how we don’t click or don’t have chemistry or something?”

“No. This is where we talk about being honest with each other. Where we build a real relationship that isn’t special effects and hiding.” It was Genji’s turn to suck in a breath as her hand came to his scarred cheek. “Not that it wasn’t fun to go out with the Angel of Music, but... only, this time, I don’t want us to spend months with us... lying to each other.”

He nodded slowly. “I... I’ll try.” He gave a chuff of laughter. “But, I need... to wear a mask sometimes. I can’t help it.” His fingers flipped in front of his eyes and he could only barely see them. “It helps me... see. Helps me hear.”

She led him to the couch. “What happened?”

He took a stiff seat on the edge of the couch. “I... got badly hurt. Nearly died. But... Overwatch saved me. And gave me a robotic body.” She made a sympathetic sound, her hands wrapping around his. “But the problem is that it... was rushed. Whatever they could get together. And when I started fighting for Overwatch, pieces of it would break. It took almost ten years until they came up with this final design. They offered an upgrade at one point, but it looked ridiculous—like a Power Ranger or alien space fighter or something—so I went back to this.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of cute. Very high tech and... exotic.”

“What’s left... well, there’s kind of.... It’s a hodgepodge. At one point I had one knee and it got broken and they had to replace it with a matching Omnic one. My left shoulder took a shell—I was stupid and had it uncovered—and they had to replace the whole arm. Most of what’s left is my... torso. The armor doesn’t mean that I am entirely Omnic—just that there was so much that was damaged and there was so much support structure that was needed, that it kind of became all over armor rather than just pieces.”

“I’m so sorry, Genji.”

“I’m... still in here, though. I’m still... a man.”

“I know.” He could hear the tears in her voice. “I am so sorry, Genji.”

His hand fumbled to touch her knee. “I will try. I will... I would be proud to take you out. I’d love for us to get a drink and to... go out. I’m so proud of your music and talent—but I can’t give up my mask. Not even for you.”

“It’s okay, mon ange. We will... we can figure this out.” She gave a watery giggle. “We can try, right?”

“Yes,” he sighed with a note of gratitude. “We can try.”


End file.
